Stuart, Elizabeth (8 page)

Then
unexpectedly, they burst from the" trees onto a short grassy slope running
down to a streambed. Normally a narrow, gurgling burn, the stream rushed by now
in a rain swollen torrent.

Alexander
sawed back on his reins, making his mount rear in protest. "Can you
swim?" he shouted savagely.

She
stared at him in amazement. "No."

"Oh,
Christ!"

Jonet
spun her mount about to face their pursuers. Contrary to the dozens she
expected, there were only four. The men had spread out and were moving down the
hill toward them. They were dressed in rough clothing, the leader holding one
of the new quick-firing wheel lock dags that made such ideal assassin's
weapons. It was obvious the men weren't English soldiers.

"Listen
to me," Alexander said under his breath. "Keep your mouth shut and no
matter what I do, follow my lead."

That
was all he had time to say, for the men were upon them. Jonet clung to her
reins. Her mouth tasted dry and metallic; her heart lodged somewhere in her
throat. She couldn't have spoken if she'd tried.

"Good
afternoon, gentlemen," Alexander began pleasantly. "It certainly
appears that you have us."

The
man holding the gun grinned. His face was covered with a rough beard and his
narrow eyes were the color of gunpowder. "Aye, it does that."

"My
name is Alexander Elliot, and this is my young nephew, John. We're honest
Scotsmen and mean no harm to you or your men. We're traveling through here
under the protection of the Armstrongs."

"Are
ye now?" The man waved his companions up beside him. " 'Tis a name to
conjure with north o' the border. Means little south, d'ye ken?"

"By
the sound of you, north of the border is where you hail. Have the soldiers
there made life too hot for you?"

The
man grinned again. "A knowin' one, ain't ye?"

"We're
in a bit of that way ourselves," Alexander assured him. "We've no
desire to have a run-in with Scots soldiers. English ones either for that
matter."

"And
would ye be payin' to see that ye dinna have a wee chat with them, man?"

"We
would indeed. Armstrong himself will tell you I'm good for it."

The
man frowned. "Then you've nothing you can give us now? On account, so to
speak."

Alexander
shook his head. "I'm afraid not. We were forced to leave in somewhat of a
hurry."

Jonet
kept her eyes focused on the deadly pistol pointed at Alexander's midsection.
Dear God in heaven, what was he up to? He was fully aware she had several
pieces of fine jewelry. Why not just give the man something if that's what it
took?

The
man waved the gun. "Get down."

Alexander
swung off his horse, motioning for Jonet to do the same. The other three
outlaws were dismounting as well, swords held menacingly in hand.

"Fine
lookin' animals," the man said, waving his gun toward their mounts.
"Per'aps we'll just be takin' 'em. Along with anything else ye have."

"I'm
sorry, but I can't let you do that," Alex said softly. "We've need of
them just now. However, I can promise you a half dozen just like them in a
week's time."

The
man swung around, dark eyes blazing. "And I can promise ye a quick trip to
hell!"

Alexander
didn't flinch. "Are you daft, man? I'm telling you I'm a friend of John
Armstrong. Lord Bothwell of Hailes will speak for me as well."

"Ye've
a quick tongue, lad, but I see no proof. A man with great friends the likes o'
them wouldn't be travelin' alone save for a greensick youth. Not through
here."

He
sent a quick glance over his shoulder. "Tom, take the gent's sword and
dagger and check inside his doublet. See to the lad as well. Rob, search the
saddles. They might be carryin' somethin' I've a mind to."

Alexander
stood quietly while the churlish Tom unfastened his doublet and jerked the
weapons from his belt. He sent Jonet a steadying glance as the man moved close
to assure himself she wore no weapons.

She
held herself in tightly, refusing to scream, refusing even to flinch as the man
slit the buttons from her doublet and lifted it out a few inches from her
waist. Then blessedly, he moved away.

A
quick survey of the oiled cloth pack behind Alexander's saddle turned up
nothing but food and clothing. The outlaw named Rob glanced up in disgust.
"Naught here worth better'n a few shillings."

The
bearded man jabbed a finger at Alexander. "You, off with the doublet. The
lad too. Strip to yer hose."

Jonet
sent Alexander a frantic glance. He stepped forward. "Search me if you
like, but leave the boy alone. He's frightened half out of his wits."

The
bearded man began to grin. "So he's carryin' somethin' is he? I'd an idea
we'd find a mite sooner or later. Most folks squawk when we skin 'em. You, Rob,
see what he's got."

Alexander
smiled. "Well, actually, it's not what you think, but there's value of a
kind all the same." He sent Jonet a hard look. "Step forward, lass,
and be properly introduced."

He
grinned at the outlaw. "A wench I picked up at a tavern in Jedburgh. Makes
the traveling more comfortable for a man, if you know what I mean."

Jonet
heard him in horror, realizing she was suddenly the target for every eye. The
men were studying her with an alert interest that made her flesh crawl.

The
outlaw chief gave a coarse laugh. "A scrawny pullet, too reedy for my
taste. Still and all we've little enough choice here and beggars can't be
choosers. Well, lass, off with it and let's see what we've got."

Jonet
felt the blood drain from her face. She stared at Alexander, unable to believe
this was happening, unable to understand how he could be standing in the midst
of this nightmare with such cool detachment.

With
an ugly grin, the man named Rob stepped forward and dragged off her doublet.
The wind struck an instant chill against her skin, and she knew every curve of
her body must be visible through her wet shirt.

For
a moment no one spoke. The only sound was the soft hiss of rushing water at her
back. She had an instant vision of flinging herself back into the muddied burn.

"Jonet!"
Alexander
snapped. "Remember what I told you."

She
lifted terrified eyes to his. Across the short expanse of ground, his cool gaze
was steady, reassuring, reminding her as surely as if he had spoken.

No
matter what I do, follow my lead.

But
not this. Surely he couldn't mean this!

He
turned casually to the outlaw chief. "She's docile enough, usually does
what she's told, I've found. A pity more females don't." He turned back.
"Jonet, lass, take off the shirt."

Her
stomach twisted with a sickening lurch. Her pulse pounded in her ears. This
scene was far beyond any her sheltered childhood had ever enabled her to
imagine. She wanted to run but her knees felt like jelly, to scream but she
knew it would do no good. And besides, Alexander was still staring at her with
that odd, intense gaze.

He
took a step nearer the outlaw chief and bent his head with a chuckle.
"I'll swear, she was never so shy with me. Bold as brass until now."
He straightened impatiently. "Come, lass, have done with it. These men
need payment if we're to get off with our skins."

Jonet
swallowed hard, scarcely breathing, scarcely thinking. He couldn't mean this!
He couldn't expect...

Alexander's
eyes held hers, cool silver against the bronze of his face. She could almost
feel him willing her to hold herself together, willing her to do as he said.

Against
her own better judgment, she lifted a hand to the lacings at her throat,
fumbling awkwardly as she loosened the ties. Every eye was on her, mesmerized,
as she slowly unlaced the shirt.

She
hesitated a moment, searching for options, knowing already that there weren't
any. Catching the ragged hem of the garment, she took a deep breath and drew it
over her head.

And
in that instant, Alexander moved. Bending from the waist, he slipped a dagger
from his boot, swinging it upward in a fierce, tearing thrust into the belly of
the outlaw chief and out through his chest.

Blood
spewed across the ground and the man went down with a scream of agony. But
Alexander was already swinging about, the dagger a flash of deadly silver in
his hand as he caught the man beside him a tending, backhand slash across the
throat. He rushed on without looking back, making for the man called Tom.

The
outlaw recovered his wits in time to sidestep Alexander's assault. Then the two
closed, twisting and grunting, the dagger clutched somewhere between them.

With
a furious bellow, the man beside Jonet spun about. He grabbed up his sword,
racing to the aid of his comrade.

But
he was already too late.

As
Jonet watched, Tom strained desperately against Alexander and then cried out.
His head fell back, his body going limp in Alexander's powerful arms.

Rob
was cursing and screaming and waving his sword. He swung wildly at Alexander,
then swung again, but Alex twisted and dodged, dancing away at the last second.

Jonet
clutched the wet shirt to her chest, watching in horror as Alexander feinted
and whirled, fighting for his life and hers with a short dagger against the
overwhelming reach of a man with a sword.

Seconds
spun out like hours as the terrible dance went on. Then a movement, a sound...
something caught her attention. She looked away from the fighters just as the
outlaw chief struggled up on one elbow with a groan.

Impossible
to believe the man wasn't dead. His upper torso was split, the dark pool
spreading beneath mute evidence of the life that was draining away. But he was
fumbling at his belt. As she watched, he dragged out the blood-covered pistol,
struggling to get it up.

Without
pausing to think, Jonet sprang forward and caught his arm. The man snarled a
vicious oath, clinging to the gun and shoving her off with a fierce burst of
strength that sent her to her knees in the reddening mud.

She
darted a glance at Alexander. He was locked in a battle of wit and reflex,
whirling and striking and falling back out of reach of the blade. She dare not
call out. To distract him for a second would mean his life.

The
outlaw had levered himself to a sitting position. His breath came in ragged
gulps, each obviously a torment. He couldn't live long, but it would be long
enough.

Jonet
searched about for a limb, a stone, anything to use as a weapon. And there at
her side lay the long, glittering blade of Alexander's sword.

She
caught at the hilt, dragging it toward her. The man had the pistol up. He was
taking aim.

Mumbling
a frantic prayer, she stumbled to her feet and lifted the heavy weapon, staring
down at the man's thick neck. Closing her eyes, she brought down the blade with
all the strength she possessed.

"
Christ
forgive me,"
she choked out as the shimmering steel connected with
flesh and bone with a rending impact that sent a sharp pain radiating to her
shoulder.

The
man went down with a gurgling, choking sound, and Jonet dropped to her knees
beside him. The entire world was a reeling red haze, the man lying dead in its
vortex.

The
sword slipped from her numbed fingers and she realized she was breathing as if
she had been running for miles. There was blood on her hands, blood on her
clothing, and she knew all at once that she was about to be ill.

She
crawled away into the bracken and lay there, dragging air into her lungs in
great choking sobs.
Sweet Mary in heaven, help him. Help Alexander... for I
can't.

The
churning in her stomach subsided, the roaring in her ears faded away. She
rolled onto her back. The whole world had gone mad, yet overhead the late
afternoon sky showed a tranquil, rain-washed blue, and a lark trilled out
peacefully from a nearby hillside.

And
suddenly Alexander was beside her, dragging her up into his arms, steadying the
spinning world and holding her safe from its horrors.

For
several moments neither spoke. Jonet felt the tumultuous beat of his heart
against her cheek, the powerful crush of his arms about her. Then his lips
brushed her hair and he drew a long, shuddering breath. "Merciful Christ
in heaven be praised!"

It
was a whispered prayer, a paean of thankfulness. Yet somehow it crystalized the
madness of the last moments making them mote real, more horrifying.

A
terrible shivering began deep inside her that spread outward through her limbs.
She couldn't control it and she found that she couldn't speak.

"It's
all right, lass," he whispered. "It's all right now, I swear. They're
all dead."

Once
more she felt the chill of the sword in her hand, the tearing bite as it cut
through living flesh. She would remember it to the end of her days.

"I...
I know," she choked out. Her fingers dug into his shirt, her cheek
chaffing against the damp fabric as she tried to press closer. "I...
killed one of them."

"No,
Jonet. You killed no one. The man could never have survived that blow I dealt
him." His hands slid down her back in long, comforting movements.
"No, lass, I killed him. You but traded the whole of my life for the last
few seconds of his."